


Beast of Burden

by moonygirl76



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Baby, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, Mates, No mpreg, Ooc malia, Sort Of, a version of malia, but we like the idea, malia is a little scary, no current malia/stiles, turned on by the idea of mpreg?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76
Summary: Malia is back from NYU with a baby and a birth certificate with her and Stiles's names on it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 415





	Beast of Burden

**Author's Note:**

> I brought my shovel and pail for another go in the Teen Wolf sandbox. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments fuel the fire.

Beast of Burden

Stiles doesn’t need supernatural hearing to know, before they even get through the front door, that there is a baby crying somewhere in the pack house. 

Distracted and concerned by this knowledge, it takes Stiles a moment to realize that Malia is lounging on the couch, busy playing some kind of bubble game on her phone. 

She doesn’t look up, even with Derek glaring, arms crossed, standing in front of her. 

She doesn’t look up when Stiles calls out to her. She doesn’t even seem to blink as he blathers on gesturing wildly in the general direction of the wailing. 

“Are you going to--? Do you know about--? Can you hear--?” Stiles says.

“Malia,” Derek says, not any louder that Stiles in volume, but with an air of authority and a rumble of Alpha command. 

She looks up lazily from her phone. “Go ahead and get her.” She then says, simply, to Stiles, with a shrug. “I’m tired.” To be fair, when Stiles comes around the front of the couch, he can see the dark circles around her eyes. That aside, this is only one example of how Malia has shown that she lacks greatly in the area of empathy. 

One of the major, but many, reasons that they didn’t last long as a couple back in high school. 

The baby let’s out another heart-breaking cry, not sounding like they want to settle any time soon. “I’ll just--?” Stiles starts, and when he gets no argument from either Malia or his mate (Derek is still glaring holes into Malia’s skull) heads upstairs to find the source. 

Stiles is mindful that he doesn’t want to leave Derek alone with Malia for any great period of time. Derek, who is hesitant to cast out a member of his family (not counting Peter, because Peter is horrible and needs to be repeatedly cast out) has shown a coldness toward his cousin Malia after Stiles admitted that the bulk of their relationship had been aggressively one-sided. Not entirely her fault given her upbringing as a coyote, paired with Stiles’s then-recent exposure to the Nogistune and subsequent mind-frame of depression and lack of self-worth. But her near-sociopathic tendencies and physical strength led to a disaster of a relationship and, to be plain, many dubious consent issues in the bedroom. 

Not a strength issue alone, because Derek doesn’t exactly level the playing field in that area, either. However, Derek is generous and careful and sensitive and, unless explicitly asked for otherwise, gentle in the bedroom. Whereas, Malia was always more instinctual. Base attraction. Base instincts. Take what you need. Again though, it was also a reflection to Stiles apparent need for rough treatment. Feeling undeserving of love and gentleness at the time. 

Malia’s been gone from the pack and, as far as anyone knew, California, for that last two years. Regardless, Derek had vowed that, despite Stiles’s water-under-the-bridge attitude, he wouldn’t allow Malia alone in a room with Stiles despite her holding a place, though tenuous, in this pack. 

The crying seems to echo throughout the second floor. The bedroom he shares with Derek is the last he checks because why on earth? The bed is empty but he finds her in a pile of Derek’s clothes, and loosely swaddled in a blanket, in the open bottom drawer of the dresser. Her little fists shake and her entire face red with the effort of her exposition. 

He’s no doctor, and lacks the benefit of younger siblings, but she looks to be fairly new to this world. She’s no bigger than a loaf of bread. Her legs curl up tight toward her body as he lifts her gently from her nest to his chest. Curly circles of dark hair cling to her soft head. 

Stiles pulls her in close, rubs her back, and shooshes her softly. He tucks the blanket around her before heading back downstairs.

Derek has given up his glaring and has gone into the kitchen to make them lunch. 

Malia glances up at Stiles and points toward a backpack on the other side of the room, her face blank of any emotion. 

For safety, and function, Stiles lays the baby down on the carpet, faced with the lack of any traditional changing table. 

Derek glances over and tells Stiles to wait. Stiles coos at the baby who is still fussing angrily, though not as loud or violently as before. He looks up to see Derek holding a bath towel and lifts the baby so Derek can spread it underneath her. 

“So, Malia,” Stiles starts, as he digs for diapers and wipes in the backpack.

Navigating a conversation with Malia was always like a stretch of battlefield laced with hidden mines. One should tread lightly. 

She looks over at him blankly but, at least, not with any hostility. 

“Does she have a name?” Stiles asks. 

“Her name is Beth, but I just call her Beast,” Malia says. 

Stiles hands still. That’s probably the most Malia thing he’s ever heard her say. Except maybe that time when she told Stiles that if she had a dog, she would just call him “Dog.”

“Is she--?”

“A beast? Yeah. She doesn’t open her eyes a lot, but she flashed them at me a couple times. Good thing she’s too young for her teeth to drop or it probably would have bitten me by now,” Malia says.

Stiles exhales, not missing the ‘it’ pronoun, but also wonders if it’s normal for a baby this young to flash their eyes and what it means. 

“Actually, I was going to gently, and unobtrusively ask if she was yours,” Stiles says, finishing buttoning up a now clean and calm baby Beth. Stiles wouldn’t actually put it past Malia to take a baby in some kind of wayward moral justification that suited her whims. 

Derek comes over with a garbage bag and gathers up the trash for Stiles. They take turns washing their hands in the kitchen before Stiles returns to pick up baby Beth, wrapping her once again in her blanket. 

Malia still hasn’t answered. Her fingers drum on her raised knee. “Biologically, yes,” she says finally. “Though I’m not much of a mother. As you can imagine,” she says, not forlornly, or guilt-ridden, because that’s just not Malia. Instead she states it matter-of-factly. 

She digs into her back pocket for a piece of paper.

“Who is the father?” Stiles asks, stepping closer as Malia unfolds the paper. 

“Well. I’m hoping you will be,” she says, setting the paper face up on the coffee table. 

Derek is at his shoulder, drying his hands on a towel and then they both look, wide-eyed down at the paper. “Certificate of Birth” it says across the top. And under “father” it reads “Mieczslaw Noah Stilinski.” 

Before Stiles can even begin to form, let alone process, the many questions in his head he hears the growling. Derek is growling. Loud and angry and protective. He looks about two seconds from-- Yup. Here comes the Beta shift. 

Stiles hands baby Beth down to Malia, who still looks nonplussed. Stiles pushes, with two hands against his chest, Derek backwards out of the room. His red eyes never leaving Malia and the baby. 

Stiles reaches behind Derek to unlatch the glass door leading to the back porch and somehow gets the furious werewolf outside. Stiles keeps pushing until they are out of sight of their guests, then he pulls the still snarling face of Derek down onto the crook of this neck. Their momentum changes, and Derek is backing Stiles up against the side of the house, pressing against him. He inhales deeply, the smell of his mate calming him. 

It takes several tense minutes for Derek to regain control and for him to override his wolf’s feelings of THREAT DANGER MINE. 

“This is Malia, Derek. Motivation and agenda is always self-serving,” Stiles says in a calming voice. “That baby couldn’t have been conceived more than fifteen months ago, and I’ve been with you for longer than that. I haven’t even seen her since she left two Christmases ago. I--”

“I know,” Derek rumbles against him. “I know. And I know you would never--”

“Never. No one. Always you. Always,” Stiles says, running his hand through Derek’s thick dark hair, holding him close. 

Not to mention that Derek would obviously smell any infidelity on Stiles a mile off. But Stiles is sure he only always smelled like Stiles when they started dating. The brief relationship with Malia well over. And sometime after that, he only always smelled like DerekandStiles. 

Derek nibbles with human teeth against the place on his neck where he bit Stiles during the mating ceremony. Just the two of them. Full moon. Deep woods. Promises of the deepest devotion. The melding of two bodies, two souls. For always.

Once Derek is calm enough, they make their way back in. Derek sits in the arm chair adjacent to Malia, and Stiles settles in his lap. 

“Explain,” Stiles says, “Because while my memory isn’t always stellar, I’m damn sure we haven’t been close enough to make a baby since I was seventeen and Beth isn’t that old.”

Baby Beth has dozed off again, and Malia has set her down on the back of the couch against the pillows. Off her own lap, but at least where the baby won’t roll off. 

“Of course we haven’t. Being delicate isn’t my strong suit, obviously,” she says, with a casual wave of her hand. Which is as close to an apology they are going to get. 

“Her biological father is named Parker Fulton. Lived in New York. Human. Asshole. I almost shifted on him three times. I guess the one good thing about our time together is he unintentionally taught me control. Which came in handy during labor,” she says drily. “He killed Dog, my German Shepard, and, I recently discovered, his last girlfriend.”

Stiles doesn’t even know which part of that emotional roller coaster of a speech to react to, and he’s sure there’s more to come, so he and Derek wait. 

“I would have come back sooner, but he followed me when I left NYU. Caught up with me and lost me twice. Threated to kill me. Threatened to kill the baby. I finally killed him in Columbus, ripped him in pieces, tossed him in the Scioto river, then drove all night and gave birth the next day in Des Moines. Can I have one of those sandwiches you were making?” she asks Derek. 

Stiles swallows. It takes Derek a second to answer. “Sure.”

It isn’t until Derek taps his hip, that Stiles realizes that it means he needs to move. 

He stands to let Derek out of the chair and then sinks back down. “That was . . . when?”

“Two months ago?” She glances down at the Birth Certificate to remind herself of her daughter’s birthday. Which seems very much like a date she should recall easily. Any one else would. Any other parent. 

“Jesus, Malia,” Stiles says. 

Malia ignores his comment and continues. “I was worthless for weeks. Beast doesn’t sleep,” she says. “Had to stay in Des Moines until I felt up to driving. Then my car broke down in Colorado Springs. Scott wired me the money to get a bus the rest of the way.”

“Did he?” Derek says, handing her a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. He offers one to Stiles, who shakes his head. His appetite gone despite being ravenous on the way home. Derek sets it on the coffee table. 

Scott hadn’t mentioned anything. Stiles stands long enough for Derek to sit behind him again, then sinks back down in to his lap.

“So here I am. Damn! This is a good sandwich,” she says, taking several large bites and not as much chewing. It’s undoubtedly the most emotion she’s shown in the conversation, thus far. 

Stiles regroups. He considers apologizing to her for the rough time she’s had of it, or congratulating on the beautiful, amazing blessing that is lying next to her. But he knows Malia isn’t receptive to any of those social niceties, even if they are genuine. 

“Malia, why is my name on the birth certificate?” he asks, instead.

Malia chews some more until most of her mouth is clear. “Didn’t want Asshole’s name on there and I had this thought.” She takes another big bite of her sandwich, then the last of it, and wipes her hands on her jeans. “Whether it’s being a werecoyote, raised wild, having Peter for a father or something more innately me, I’m not cut out for this whole parent thing. What is it that you said once, Stiles? I lack gentleness, empathy, and the very ability to truly love.”

Stiles winces. “That might have been a heat-of-the-moment statement.”

“No. Well, yes. But you are honest. I’ve always liked that about you. And your ass. And your mouth,” she says.

Derek has started growling again. Malia smiles. In that creepy way she does where it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She continues. “You’ve always been much softer than I am, Stiles. Crying all the time, just a squish of soppy emotions melting off of you,” Malia says, rolling her eyes. 

“Hey!” Stiles says. 

She ignores his squawk of indignation. “It’s not always bad. You have a knack for thinking about others before yourself,” she goes on. “You take care of the whole pack. You take care of Derek.”

Stiles feels Derek’s warm hand rest on his back. He doesn’t argue further. 

“I don’t want to be a mom, Stiles, but I think you would make a very good one,” she says. 

Stiles exhales. “That’s. Very thoughtful of you,” he acknowledges, trying not to sound like he’s outright agreeing to anything without talking to Derek first. Who is being annoyingly taciturn, even for him. 

“No. It’s really not. It’s intelligent. And it’s forthright,” she says.

“Two things I always liked about you,” Stiles says, generously. 

“Not my mouth?” she asks, and Derek is growling again. 

Stiles laughs to break the tension, using both hands to cover his face. Because fuck if Malia doesn’t know how to stir a pot. 

After giving Malia his sandwich, and tossing Derek his keys, Stiles tells Malia that he and Derek need to talk and, unnecessarily, to make herself at home. 

The immensity of what they need to talk about bogs them into silence on the way to the coffee shop and, even still, on the way from the coffee shop to the preserve. In fact, it’s not until his cranberry muffin has been devoured, and he is half way through his latte that Stiles finally breaks the silence. 

“What do you think?” he asks Derek. 

Derek stops on the path and turns toward him. The line of his shoulders high and tight. But his gaze stays lowered. He crosses his arms. “I don’t trust her,” Derek says.

“Right,” Stiles agrees, “Me, either.” But he’s surprised at how his heart sinks that Derek begins with a negative.

Though it’s a figure of speech, and he doesn’t think physically his heart is doing anything different at all that Derek would be able to detect, Derek lifts his eyes to look at him. 

Derek reaches out with the hand not holding his coffee to caress his cheek. “You would make an amazing parent, Stiles. That part I do trust.”

Stile reaches up and takes ahold of the hand touching his face. “We. We would make amazing parents, Derek.”

Derek’s hand slips from his hold and he turns bodily away from Stiles to look down the path. 

He sighs. “I don’t think that’s what she’s proposing.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks. 

“The only thing she asked of me is for a sandwich, Stiles.”

“Well, true. But you two don’t exactly get along.”

Derek shrugs. 

“She could have come to me alone,” Stiles says, “But she didn’t.”

Derek looks back at him. “No. She couldn’t have. I’ve told her she isn’t welcome in the pack house alone with you.”

Stiles nods, because it wasn’t just Derek being possessive, though it was a little bit like that. He had sheepishly asked Derek to make the request, admitting that he still didn’t feel comfortable alone with her after he and Derek started dating. He still wouldn’t be if he was being honest. 

“Right. But I’m saying that she could have, but she included you. And, it wasn’t my drawer that she put baby Beth down to nap in,” Stiles says. 

Derek steps closer, his brow furrowing. “She what?”

“She made the baby a little nest in your clothes. Like maybe she was trying to familiarize her--”

“--with my scent?” Derek finishes for him. 

Stiles nods. 

Derek shakes his head, again turning away from Stiles and running his hands through his hair before turning back. “She said she wants you to be the mom, which traditionally would mean the bulk of the child rearing.”

“Traditionally,” Stiles allows. 

“To me, it sounded like she wanted to get you to do the work and she would hang around, and . . . play house with you. Which doesn’t leave much of a role for me in this equation.”

Stiles grabs Derek by the arm before he can turn away again. “Fuck. Fuck, Derek. I’m not interested in that. If that’s what she’s going for, then . . . no. I don’t want a family with Malia. I want a family with you.” His voice breaks on the last word. He didn’t even know how much it meant to him, until he said it. 

Derek is there, arms wrapped around him, his mouth close enough for Stiles to feel his breath against his lips when he speaks. “I want that, too. You know I do. But not if Malia’s just going to use it to insert herself between us or come around and take it away from us one day on a whim.”

Stiles nods. “We’ll have to pin her down on her intentions.” They stand there for a bit without separating taking in the night air. Taking in the moonlight. Taking in each other. He takes a sip of his latte, then runs his free hand up the side of Derek’s neck, making him shiver. “If it’s not today, it’s another day. You and me and a baby makes three, Derek.”

Derek growls and pulls Stiles into a heated kiss. His hand slides down and squeezes Stiles’s ass through his jeans and pulls him tight against him, hip to hip. 

Stiles breaks the kiss, setting his forehead against Derek. “Does the idea of making a family with me turn you on, Alpha Hale?”

Derek growls again setting his teeth against Stiles’s neck. “You keep talking like that I’m going to have you flat on your back taking my babymaker.”

A laugh bursts out of Stiles and he feels, rather than hears Derek chuckling against his neck, hot breath coming out in puffs. But then Derek’s hand leaves his ass and finds its way down the front of Stiles’s jeans and the laughter dries up. 

“Aaaaaah,” is about all Stiles can manage before he does find himself on his back on the path. 

Stiles drops his Latte, a distant thought about hoping it doesn’t spill on them, and then his hands are in the tight space between their bodies and he’s trying desperately to get Derek’s dick out of his jeans before he cums, bucking against Derek’s hand. He does manage it, with Derek’s help, and it’s all hands-on-dicks and teeth-against-teeth for . . . an embarrassingly . . . short period of time. 

They’re laughing again, against each other’s mouths. Derek rolls his weight off Stiles, who looks down. “I’m a mess. Be honest, Derek, was it the idea of making a baby or just the thought of parading me around in front of Malia marked in your spunk?”

Derek covers Stiles mouth with his hand. “Don’t say her name while covered in my cum, Stiles.”

Stiles rolls his eyes dramatically but, hums his consent. He’s rewarded with a few more warm kisses. 

“Tuck your babymaker away and we can go home, sweetcheeks.” Derek tries to be insulted, but Stiles’s laughter is infectious. His only defense is to kiss him again. And again. 

They return to the pack house, ready to face to music as it were. The sound of baby Beth crying reaches their ears once again but, what doesn’t greet them, is the form of Malia lounging on the couch. Or, according to Derek’s werewolf hearing, anywhere else in the pack house. 

“One heartbeat, aside from ours,” he tells Stiles. 

Stiles makes his way upstairs, pausing only to wash his hands, and finds baby Beth, once again, in the bottom drawer of the dresser in their bedroom. Holding her close, maybe a fair bit closer than before. Suspecting even before they find the note on the kitchen table, that baby Beth has been left behind. 

She continues to wail as Derek crumples the note and tosses it back on the counter. Continues to cry as Derek washes his own hands then digs through Malia’s backpack for formula and a bottle. Continues to fuss, little tears rolling out of her flashing gold eyes, until he’s warmed water, mixed in formula, and tested the contents against his wrist. Derek takes Stiles’s arm and tests the temperature against the inside of his wrist too, in case it feels too hot to his more sensitive human skin. Once Stiles nods that it seems okay, Derek reaches for baby Beth, for the first time, a question on his face that Stiles answers immediately by handing baby Beth over without hesitation. 

Derek sinks down in the armchair and watches her suck greedily on the bottle. Then, as she settles into the rhythm, not quite so frantic, he leans over and rubs his cheek over the dark hair on her head. Scenting her.

Stiles kneels down next to them and rubs a finger on baby Beth’s cheek as she drinks, and then a hand on Derek’s face as their eyes connect. This is far from settled, with many questions yet to be answered, and issues to sort out. But this feels right. 

“She already feels like pack,” Stiles says aloud. 

Derek nods, rubbing his beard against Stiles’s hand. “Like pack,” he repeats, his voice warm and dropping low, “Like family.”


End file.
